Happily Ever After
by Pureauthor
Summary: In the end, happy endings aren't always that easy to come by...


Happily Ever After

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Why am I working on a oneshot when I should be updating my chapter fics? Who knows.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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The crickets chirruped softly as he made his way up the dirt path. At the end of it was a cottage. It was simple, rustic even, but it was a solid, sturdy building that would withstand whatever nature saw fit to throw at it.

He remembered when he'd first laid eyes on the completed home. He'd given a fair price for it to be built – a home for him and his wife. He remembered the surge of contentment, pleasure and pride as they both stood there, he with his arm around her waist, she cradling their newborn daughter, gazing upon what was to be their future.

Briefly, he wondered where those feelings had gone. Had they been buried under the monotony, the daily drudgery of his life? Perhaps. Once in a while, in moments of quiet desperation, he'd close his eyes, trying to blot out the outside world, trying to figure out what went wrong, trying to figure out if there was some day to fix all this – to let things go back to the way they were before.

He blinked tired eyes, stepping to the side to avoid a rock that happened to be in his way. He should've removed that blasted thing ages ago. _Maybe tomorrow._ He thought with a sigh.

Maybe tomorrow…

* * *

Her daughter was in blissful slumber, lost to the world. Silently, she ran a hand across her face, trailing rough and worn fingers over her delicate cheek.

As she left her daughter's room, she paused, noting that the fire had died down to little more than an orange glow among the coals and wood. Briefly, she considered reigniting it but then decided that she was… well, she was just too tired.

She settled back on a creaky wooden chair, pulling her old cloak tighter to protect herself from the cold.

She was cold. She'd been cold for a very long time.

The door creaked open and he stepped in, shrugging off his own cloak and laying it on the table by the doorway. She managed to find a smile from somewhere within the recesses of herself, and she stood.

"Welcome home, Franz."

* * *

He could feel the strain in her voice. He glanced up, noting with concern the shadows under her eyes.

"Amelia…" He almost stepped forward to embrace her. "You didn't need to wait for me."

"Don't be silly." She smoothed away a wrinkle on her skirt with her hand. "It's – it's my duty, after all."

Franz received the words, resisting the urge to wince at the way she said 'duty'. He walked forward with slow, measured paces. "…How's Melina?"

"She's fine. I put her to bed a few hours ago. How was work?"

He sighed, stretching tired muscles. "Pretty much the usual. We spent the better half of the afternoon patrolling, but nothing eventful."

"I guess that's good, then."

For the thousandth time, Franz wondered if these sort of conversations were normal for happily married couples.

He looked up, gazing into the face of Amelia. His wife. The woman he had asked to marry. Even in the dim light of the remnants of the fire, he could see the ache, the weariness, the silent torment in her eyes.

He suspected that he himself was no different.

After a long silence, she spoke up again.

"Well… I… suppose we should get to bed."

He blinked, nodded. "It _is_ rather late."

Silently, she turned, heading for the bedroom. And Franz followed, wishing with all his heart that he could cover the distance of two paces that separated the two of them, that he could wrap his arm protectively around her once, that she would look into his eyes, and he would look into hers, that they both could smile at each other once again.

But of course there was more than a mere two paces in between them.

So very much more.

* * *

They both lay on the same bed.

Franz had turned away, lying on his side, his breathing deep and regular. Despite this, Amelia could tell that he was nowhere close to falling asleep.

Then again, neither was she.

She shifted her head, turning her view from that of the ceiling to the back of her husband's neck. She sighed, a low sigh, so soft that it would have escaped Franz's detection had he not known her well enough anyway.

It wasn't that she didn't love him anymore. She lay down her life for his in a heartbeat, and she believed – _knew_ – he'd do the same for her.

So why? What was this strange gulf that lay in between them?

She blinked. A single tear slid down her cheek, leaving a damp trail behind it. Moist, cool, in the night air.

What she wouldn't give to feel warm again...

Slowly, hesitantly, one arm snaked out from under the covers. She paused, swallowed, and then brought it up, to rest on his side.

She could feel him stiffen at her touch. A sharp intake of air. She closed her eyes, pondering. It was strange. Up until the moment she'd actually made the action, it had seemed almost impossible to conceive. Yet now… she had done it.

She opened her eyes again as she felt the soft brush of fingers against her own. Franz had turned; shifted so that his back now rest against the mattress, his head turned to face her. Then he craned his neck once more, to look down at where her hand lay on his midsection. His hand slipped over hers, not truly holding it, but just… just being there.

"I love you, Franz." She said softly, and stopped there. But there was more, oh so much more that she wanted to say, about how she was worried that his work was wearing him out, about how she just wished he were home a little more often, about how she wanted to know what his hopes, his plans, his dreams, what they were, and most of all, about how she hated this wretched, wretched breach that had somehow formed between them, but she was so worried that if she started she wouldn't be able to stop and so she didn't start, she just said that single line and lay there on her bed, staring at her husband, choking back tears.

A thick silence descended on the room. Finally, Franz's grip on her hand tightened.

"I…" He paused, took a deep breath, as if struggling to speak. "Amelia, I…" Another deep breath. Perhaps he feared that now it would sound hollow, after she had said it first.

"Amelia, I love you."

Somehow, she wasn't sure what she had expected. Some dam to burst, for the floodgates of their love to pour out, and for all to be well? Well, that didn't happen, at least. For a long moment husband and wife, stared at each other. Then, on some unspoken signal, the two broke apart again, returning to their separate portions of the bed.

Amelia lay staring at the ceiling. So that was that, then. Aches, tears, pains, and frustrations, and nothing to show for it-

No, not nothing. But something had changed. Almost imperceptibly, perhaps. But it had changed nonetheless.

She turned her neck to look once more at her husband. At the man she had married. At the man… the man she loved.

She brought the hand he had earlier grasped up to her faces. Softly, she stroked it across her cheek, the cheek that a tear had earlier slid down from.

It was warm.

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You know how you have an idea for a story and then when you actually start to right it, it runs off on its own and becomes its own separate entity that you barely recognize anymore?

Yeah, this story was like that.

Thanks for reading, please review.


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